The Learning Curve
by cranesandcranesandcranes
Summary: AJ's quest for appreciation, love and happiness takes her to the fringes of sanity, through multiple heartaches and ultimately leaves her lonely and insecure as ever . She doesn't know that throughout it all one man has been waiting to offer her everything she's been looking for. All she needs to do is show him she's learnt from her mistakes and discovered how to stand on her own.
1. Chapter 1

**July 8 2012**

AJ couldn't remember when she'd last greeted a morning with such enthusiasm. Perhaps as a child, but feeling such ease and untempered joy in adulthood was unheard of, especially in the past three months; three months that had catapulted her into a situation quite bewildering: Her professional dreams and her personal nightmares coming true all at once. She was the star of the show, but no one understood her. She'd learnt how to play the mind games that were oh-so-crucial to surviving and thriving in her chosen vocation; but it hadn't gotten her what she truly wanted. Until now.

To say she knew it was a matter of time would be a lie. She could never be that secure in herself, especially when it came to men. But she had hoped, God had she hoped. Harder than she ever had, harder than she would have believed herself capable of before her seal had been broken, before this heightened state of emotional being had been awakened amid the cruelty and the confusion of the whole Daniel debacle. The confusion through which he'd waded, a shining beacon of everything she could wish for in a man, his initial reluctance and prickliness only making her want him more, because when he finally reciprocated, she'd know it was real. There was no such thing as CM Punk 'just being nice.'

She'd felt his resolve gradually chip away; his genuine concern and fondness for her grow week on week in spite of his instincts to leave well alone. He was drawn to her, drawn to her by the love that lay beneath his layers of apathy and cynicism. There was no doubt in her mind that it existed. It had to, this was meant to be, she just worried she'd never be able to draw it into the open. She'd kept him guessing, she'd made sure there wasn't a second where it was safe to turn away lest he miss a crucial clue in unraveling her mystery, or lest she come to harm. She knew exactly what she was doing, but he didn't know that, and that underestimation of her mental faculties had led to the first key realisation; he cared about her. All that had been left for her to do was make him realise he wanted her too.

Again it was an exercise in determination and persistence; never wasting a moment to remind him what she had to offer in that department but never completely giving herself up to him either. Even now she wasn't that kind of girl. And it had all been worth it for that final victorious moment when, with very little coercion, he'd finally lost control.

_'We need to go up to your room... NOW.'_

It felt like those words would loop in her head for eternity, the breathy desperation and concession in his voice. His hands all over her during the elevator ride, him throwing her onto the bed, him almost tearing her clothes off of her. Him settling down to sleep beside her having left her completely and utterly satisfied. Everything had been just like she envisioned it. Well, it was a lot rougher than she'd pictured, and he hadn't said the words yet, thus forcing her to withhold them as well, but that would all come in good time. If he was attracted to her and he cared so much about her it almost went without saying anyway, right?

Right. And today, today they could do whatever the hell they wanted. Take a walk, browse some comics, then dinner, back to his bus for a gaming session, sex (maybe she could get him to take it a little slower this time) and then sleep in each other's arms. Perfection. All this and she hadn't even yet opened her eyes. She readied herself for it; his bare torso, his hair splayed every-which-way as a legacy of the previous evening's passions, his lip ring glinting in the summer morning sun. Her lids slid back to reveal an empty space, quilt cast hastily to one side, the sheet still contoured around his silhouette.

Well, this was a little disappointing, but it opened up the potential for numerous other glorious sights: Him returning from the bathroom hopefully not having dressed, maybe fresh from the shower. Perhaps she could join him in there... God it was ridiculous how these mere thoughts could get her going. She pushed gingerly to her feet. She caught her own naked reflection in the mirror, for once not stopping to dwell upon any imperfections, to lament any perceived lack of curves. If she was good enough for him that was all that mattered. Then she glanced across the room to find the bathroom clearly unoccupied, the door hanging open.

It was at this point that the white-hot sensation began to stir, the shadow of fear began to swell, the green shoots of self-confidence that he'd planted threatening to wither beneath it. Her mind still offered plaintive, idyllic explanations. He could be buying them breakfast, maybe something came up and he didn't want to disturb her sleep. He knew she wasn't a morning person.

She sat down on his side of the bed, and was comforted to feel it still bore his warmth. It told her hadn't been gone long, and somehow provided her with faith that he would soon return. She picked her phone up from the bedside table, the screen adorned with the one picture she'd successfully been able to take of the two of them. It was from two months prior; he looked so wary and uncomfortable to be in her presence, nothing like now. And they'd laughed at her swooning, called her a deluded little child. Who was laughing now?

It appeared he'd left her a voicemail. Not a text. That wasn't intimate enough anymore. What did he have to say? She was fantasising about what the message might contain. Him telling her in explicit detail how much he'd enjoyed the previous night. That he'd made a trip to Starbucks and was on his way back to the room at that very minute. Perhaps he was finally going to say he loved her.

_"AJ..."_ God, it was utterly indecent and somewhat embarrassing how even hearing her name from his lips sent her aquiver.

_"I'm sorry I'm not here to say this in person. If you think I'm a coward, you're probably dead right, but I knew you wouldn't take no for an answer..."_

No to what? To doing it again before she left? She didn't mind, they could take their time, they had their whole lives together after all.

_"Last night... last night was a mistake."_

Yeah, perhaps they shouldn't have rushed into it so quickly. Maybe gone on a few dates first. Waited until they'd told each other how they felt. She could see where he was coming from there. If indeed that was where he was coming from. It had to be. It _had_ to be.

_"This whole thing between us has gotten way, way out of hand. I guess I thought last night would give me some sort of closure. Get it out of my system, draw a line under it all, I don't know... but what I do know, what I've known all along, is that you wouldn't see it that way. You don't just want me for one night, you weren't just looking to relieve the tension, you were looking for something I can't give you. I've played with your emotions, I've given you false hope and I'm deeply sorry. God knows you've been through enough of that recently, it's done terrible things to your state of mind and to think I've added to that makes me pretty damn sickened at myself. I took advantage of you and it won't happen again. _

_"You haven't done anything wrong, we're still friends... if you want to be that is, and to be honest I wouldn't blame you if you didn't. I care about you, I really do, but that's the precise reason I can't let this happen again. There's never going to be any us, and maybe when you get help and sort yourself out you'll realise why. Please don't try calling me back and changing my mind, you won't, you should know that of me by now. See you tomorrow."_

Mistake? Get it out of his system? Sickened at himself? Never going to be any us? Sort herself out? She _was_ sorted out, completely sorted out, she'd met the man of her dreams, she'd shown him how much she loved him, how everything about him brought her to life like nothing ever had before, and finally he'd reciprocated. That was it. They were together now. The glorious narrative she'd written out, literally at one point, had callously been ripped to shreds in a minute and a half of awkward mumbling.

She'd been so certain that there was no such thing as one night stands or friends with benefits when it came to the two of them. Punk didn't do that. He wasn't like the others. He was loyal, honorable, deep and compassionate. And who better do direct that loyalty and compassion towards than the woman who'd shown him an abundance of those things in return? But no, he'd fucked her and fucked off like any of the other locker room lunkheads would. He'd told her she needed help just like they did. She thought last night was him finally realising where she was coming from. That she wasn't... _that word_. She didn't need 'professional help.' She needed him.

The black cloud was now well and truly enveloping her, about to rain down its torrent of anguish and fury. Her breath quickened, her eyes glazed, her mouth let out a strangulated, disconsolate scream as she hurled the phone across the room and it thudded against the far wall, its plastic casing shattering. She launched the bedclothes to the far side of the bed, the waft of his scent that they blew back at her taunted her, only greatening her disquiet. She pounded at the wall behind the headboard, wailing incoherently, unable to accept the grave implications of the last few minutes.

She threw herself backwards onto the mattress. Her tear-stained eyes came to rest on the shirt tossed haphazardly over the chair by the dresser, the one he'd yanked eagerly over her head the previous evening. The one that bore his name, that she'd spent hours trimming and customising, as much to lure him in as to suit her own fashion sense. She held it to her breast, then buried her head in it and proceeded to sob some more. This couldn't be the end. He was her only hope. He was the one. Not Kane. Not Daniel, she was finally sure of that now. _Him_. The best in the world, just like the shirt said. If he didn't understand her, who the hell did?

* * *

He'd heard the scream from along the hall. Instantly he knew who and what. Sadly, it was _that_ inevitable. He fought to restrain himself as he had so many times before, to stop himself from intervening. Just as he had the previous night as he'd watched them get dangerously close to one another in the lobby, then take their leave, their destination obvious. He'd got as far as the door to her room before he managed to talk himself out of it. But he couldn't turn back. He was paralysed by those sobs; her naive, idealistic young heart wailing in protest and despondence at the bleak complexity of real life and how it jarred with her dreams and desires.

He so desperately wanted to console her, to tell her everything would be fine and ensure he was a man of his word. But he was adamant; she needed to learn, on her own. It was evident her journey of discovery was far from complete. If she could be so taken in by Punk, so convinced he was the answer to her prayers in spite of his obvious dismay at much of her actions and his obvious inability to relate to her plight. If she could still be infatuated so easily, if she was still unable to tell the difference between sympathy and empathy. She had a long way to go.


	2. Chapter 2

**December 10 2012**

"We good now? You're not about to attack any more innocent members of staff?" he questioned pensively as he released her from his arms. She hadn't wanted him to let go. She never did. There was just something so comforting about his embrace. He was so strong and commanding, an enormous mass of muscle she could just bury herself into. None of the others made her feel safe like he did. She used to believe the best kind of hero was a reluctant one, but she'd had her fill of those now. She needed a man who wasn't ashamed to take a stand, to protect those he cared for, and that was just who John Cena was.

He'd been by her side unwaveringly throughout this whole torrid affair, or lack thereof; sheltering and supporting her in the face of the kind of bullying and petty jealousy she'd been dealing with her whole life. But she wouldn't need to worry about it anymore. John was going to be there. They were going to be the ultimate power couple, the faces of the company. Talk about landing on her feet.

In many ways this had been the ultimate test. It had been a while since she'd had one of her 'episodes', as those idiot psychiatrists liked to term them, and John was a big reason why she'd been able to keep herself together. But tonight... tonight she'd been given the change to erase the bullshit of the past month from history, to regain the job she loved and give Vickie Guerrero the beating she was long overdue. But she'd been screwed, shafted, fucked over big time. How could anyone honestly expect her to maintain her cool? But John hadn't run away and left her to descend further into meltdown. He was here. As he'd just said, they were in this together.

"AJ? Helloooooooo?" John theatrically waved his hand in front of her face and it was at this point she realised she'd been staring aimlessly into space while she contemplated all of this.

"Yup, fine," she trilled, her face breaking out into an abrupt grin. John didn't look particularly convinced. She almost felt like feigning another breakdown to get him to hold her again. But no, she'd put him through enough tonight. And besides, now was the time to say what she'd been wanting to say for so long.

"John... there's something I really need to tell you," she began, coyly twirling her hair around her finger and not quite meeting his eyes.

"Is it gonna take long? I've got a pretty big match coming up, remember?" there he went, mind on the job as ever. She took great pride in being one of the few things aside from his work that stirred his passion.

"No, not long, it's just... You get me, John. You're there for me whenever I need you, it makes me feel so... calm," she saw a wry smirk spread over his face. She adored how he was always trying to make light of every situation, always looking for a way to make her laugh.

"What?" she queried, cocking her head to one side.

"Nothing, nothing," he murmured hurriedly.

"I'm glad you feel that way, AJ. I mean, what are friends for?"

"Friends?"

"Yeah, y'know. People who get along, hang out together, support each other... friends. Is that all you wanted to say?"

Friends. That's what he thought they were? Did friends passionately kiss on live television? Did friends send each other dozens of texts per day? OK, she always instigated it, but he always replied. Did friends do... well, all those _other_ things they'd done together? Some of which she'd never done before and wasn't entirely comfortable with, but was willing to go through with for him. After all, he'd done so much for her. But looking at his eyes now she saw the same look she'd seen in Punk's when she proposed to him, or in Daniel's when _he_ proposed to _her_ that told her he was doing it for all the wrong reasons. He didn't understand her, he didn't respect her. That smirk... he was mocking her. She was pouring her heart out and he was _laughing_ at her.

"Y-yeah, that's everything," she mumbled. She couldn't bare to look at his heartless, condescending face a minute longer.

"OK... cool. Uh... see you round, then," he blustered and hurried away. Running for cover. Like she was a faulty rifle that could go off at any moment. If he really found her that unpredictable then he clearly didn't know her the way she thought he did. That was becoming agonisingly clear now. He was pretending to. Maybe at first to kiss up to the boss, then to get her into bed, and now that mission was accomplished, now he'd crossed her off his list, he was washing his hands of her.

That was all he was to her, and yet to her he was... she was prepared to give him everything... she'd already given him way too much, and thinking of that now made her skin crawl. Once again the only person she thought knew her best had proven he didn't know her in the slightest. The person who she looked to for love and support found her a burden and an inconvenience.

All of a sudden they were there again, those savage, searing, unbearable aches that were ten times worse than anything the whole Vickie situation could bring out in her. She was back in the ring being verbally torn to shreds and kicked to the curb by Daniel, back in that hotel room waking up to Punk's voicemail. She'd have her vengeance on John, just as she had the other two, and once again she'd ensure he didn't suspect a thing; but that was no substitute, just a mere formality. The closest thing to comfort she could salvage from such a mess. Heartbreak. Again.

* * *

As soon as he saw what transpired in the ring he'd made his way to gorilla, determined not to let her out of his sight, prepared to make himself known and break his vow of non-intervention if she _really_ lost it. But as expected, SuperCena flew to the rescue. He knew somehow that she wasn't going to make it through tonight with her heart intact. He knew it as soon as she burst into the men's locker room, gleefully throwing her arms around John, who himself looked absolutely mortified. Two things were clear; that she'd fallen for him to a delirious extent and that her erratic intensity and overabundant affection had worn him down to the point he could scarcely conceal his despair.

For a time, during the early days of her tenure as General Manager, he'd began to think she'd turned the corner. He couldn't help but swell with pride as she stood her ground, refused to let the boys intimidate her or lead her astray. He cheered her on as she gained retribution on the men who had spurned her so cruelly and treated her with such disregard, so it was with shock and horror that he watched her make the same mistake again.

He prayed he'd be spared this sight, her slumped against the wall of the corridor, weeping into her palms. No matter how much he told himself that the kindest thing to do was to keep his distance, to let her tears fall, there was no stopping the instinctive pull toward her. He had to physically cling to the crate behind which he was concealed to stop himself rushing over to her and gathering her in his arms, showing her how it felt to be held by someone who really loved her.

He could be 100% certain now that this was what he felt for her. At first he'd merely felt unduly protective of her, like a big brother perhaps, but the worse her situation became and the more he found himself unable to tear his mind from it, he began to realise the true magnitude of his he couldn't tell her yet. She needed to find out what love really was, learn how to recognise it and differentiate it from what she'd received from these excuses for men, know what set him apart from them. She needed to be someone he could love and respect in equal measure. She wasn't the wide-eyed little girl he'd met three years ago anymore, but she wasn't a woman yet either.

Nonetheless, there was absolutely no way he couldn't offer her some sort of anonymous support. He pulled out the phone and began to text, the words coming instinctively to him as he watched her slowly pick herself up and wander away sniffling. He would've done it sooner but was worried he'd freak her out. But surely knowing someone in the world cared would provide some comfort, even if she didn't know who it was. He wasn't breaking his rule so long as he hid his number and didn't reply.

_'You don't need him. You're better than him in every possible way. Just because he doesn't understand you doesn't mean no one ever will. Someone out there loves you for everything that you are. Someone out there gets you just as much as you wish that he did. Don't give up. You'll find him someday xxxx'_


End file.
